


A Welcome Respite

by foxsgloves



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, astronomy lessons with mr canach guildwars, rated t for language and spicy thoughts, soft and fluffy like a comforting blanket, starring @pyreo's commander Arkadea, that perhaps your cactus friend has given to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxsgloves/pseuds/foxsgloves
Summary: It's a late night in the desert, the Commander can't sleep, and her noisy thoughts disturb a certain demolitionist.
Relationships: Canach/Female Player Character (Guild Wars)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	A Welcome Respite

**Author's Note:**

> This was first written as a tiny gift for @pyreo featuring her sylvari commander, Arkadea, and her favorite cactus. She can have a little cactus, as a treat.

Canach was all too right about their kind and the desert, thought Arkadea. 

The thing about the desert—well, the thing about the desert besides the hateful eye of the sun, and the leagues of scouring sand, and the ancient lich-king intent on tearing out her throat—the thing about the desert was just how fucking empty it was.

She couldn’t sleep. No surprise. Frequent problem, that. Tended to happen when you had, oh, only the weight of the entire world’s survival crushing down on your shoulders. But closer to home, she could go stand outside her tent and listen to the wind rustling the trees, and tilt her head back and watch their twining shapes blot out the stars, and feel small. Just small enough that she could lie down and snatch a few precious hours of rest.

But in the desert there was only the empty sand and the emptier sky and the brilliant spray of all the distant stars, expectant and watchful. She ought to feel small here, small and insignificant, in all this space. But instead it was as though everything inside her swelled and rose up to fill it. 

Fuck this, she thought, I’m giving up, and she’d just resolved to duck back in her tent and fletch arrows or whatever the hell else until the sun reared back over the horizon and resumed trying to kill them all by inches, when she heard the muffled crunch of footsteps over the loose sand behind her. 

“Evening, Commander,” announced Canach as he strode out to meet her. “Lovely night for gazing up at the stars and pondering our doom. Don’t you agree?”

She sighed through her nose, glad to see him despite her show of annoyance. A hint of that familiar warmth bled into her aura. “Is this your way of telling me I think too loudly?”

“Well, you were being awfully noisy about it,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t know how a man is supposed to catch a wink of sleep in this forsaken hellscape, what with all of that existential despair.”

“I may not have your years of practice, oh wise secondborn,” she said dryly, crossing her arms, “but I was staying politely quiet.” She still wasn’t able to tamp her aura down to silence, as he could, but in the time she’d had to work with she’d gained more than enough skill to tighten it to a close orbit around her.

So the only way he could have sensed her would be if he’d been listening in. She set a hand on her hip. “Eavesdropping? Really? You didn’t think to leave your commander some privacy?”

“Well, you know me, Commander. The life of an outlaw does inspire vigilance.” And despite his flippant tone and tilt of his chin, she could hear the edge of something beneath it. Something that sounded very much like concern.

She reached out to brush his aura on instinct alone, then remembered who she was dealing with and withdrew. But not before she caught a snatch of something much like what had lingered in his voice. Something oddly raw and tender.

She could feel him. The only reason she hadn’t been able to feel him before was because she wasn’t paying attention. She’d grown so accustomed to the only other sylvari in camp projecting nothing but stony silence. But not only was he allowing her feel to him, he was—ever so slightly—radiating quiet, attentive worry. 

Well. That was new.

And certainly not unwelcome. But she was still wary, leaning away just slightly even as she let her arms drop to her sides. As if that would do any good. He could feel her the same as she felt him, could see her glow flare a shining aquamarine. 

And he was standing still, watching, violet eyes trained on her. Waiting for her to make the first move, just as he had all those years ago, when they’d first met, enemies in a damp cave at the ass-end of Southsun.

She thought tiptoeing around mines had probably been easier, in retrospect. 

“If you’re going to butt in,” she said, “you may as well be entertaining. I’m sure a seasoned explorer like yourself knows some of these constellations?”

“Oh, of course. No other way to navigate when you’re alone in the dark, without aid or ally, leagues from anyone who doesn’t wish to put a knife between your ribs.” He gestured to a cluster of violet stars near the horizon. “To guide your steps, the harper, who always sings at true north. See the curve of his instrument?”

“Yes,” Arkadea insisted, even though it all looked less like a harp and more like a handful of pale specks.

He edged a step towards her. He was close enough that she could smell him, fresh and sharply green, the scent of the Grove, of home. Though he‘d despise the comparison. “Over there is the spinner’s wheel, and its center at thirty degrees. Very reliable.” 

She could identify the orange star at its heart, at least, and a vague ring around it with a drunken squint. “I know that one. The one we call the bright thorn.”

For once, the mention of Grove lore didn’t kindle any anger behind his eyes. He didn’t even seem to take notice. Instead, he drifted nearer to her, ever so slightly, so if either turned just a hairsbreadth their shoulders would brush together. The slow pulse of their mingled glows cast eddies of cyan and orange over the drifting sand. “Right past you, the dagger with a sapphire in its hilt. Old favorite of mine. And that one—“ He raised his arm up, nearly close enough to touch her cheek, guiding her towards the center of the sky. “That one they call the old king’s cock.”

She burst into short, sharp laughter, more from shock at the unexpected vulgarity than real humor. He wasn’t usually the type to go in for that sort of thing. “It is not!”

“And the milky streak there is his…” And he waggled his brow at her suggestively. 

“You just made that up!” she said, now laughing in earnest. 

“No, it’s true. Swear it on my nonexistent honor.”

“You’re full of shit,” she protested, though she still wore the hint of a smile. 

He lowered his arm, just slightly grazing her cheek as it fell. Instead of moving away, he remained in place, glow stuttering just so slightly. His gaze was shuttered, as always, but she was near enough, and knew him well enough, to see in his eyes a question.

It was a question she had already posed to herself on many nights past. And every time, she’d answered in the negative. Not when they couldn’t even be sure of the end of today, let alone tomorrow. 

“Well. Thanks for that stimulating diversion.” She twisted her hips away, stretching out the tension in her shoulders. “I’d better get some rest. You can too, without all the noisy, what was it,” she shrugged one shoulder, “existential despair.”

“Lots of people have difficulty sleeping in the desert, you know,” he said conversationally. “Wilting heat gets to all types sooner or later.”

“Oh, and you know this because?” She raised a brow. “Personal experience?”

“Me? Of course not,” he scoffed. “But I’ve seen it often enough I know a handy trick for it. I can show you.”

Her glow leapt for a brief second, washing over the dunes and painting them the color of rolling deep-sea waves. Perhaps it was just the bawdy constellations getting to her. But she could think of a few handy little tricks he could show her to wear her out. 

“Wait here a moment,” he said, striding off towards his tent. Arkadea watched her own glow skitter over the sand and stomped on a giddy, growing excitement at the idea of taking him to her tent. First of all, she was leaping to conclusions, and second of all, she ought to save those thoughts for later, when she’d returned to said tent. If his handy trick didn’t work she could always try to exhaust herself a bit. 

After only a few brief moments, he returned carrying a dark bundle under one arm, which he unfurled to reveal a wide blanket, heavy and white and woven with a curling border of blue leaves. 

“That’s a blanket,” Arkadea said, rubbing her furrowed forehead. Whatever she’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been. That. 

“That’s our Commander. Always so observant.” He shook out the fabric. 

“The leaf pattern’s nice. You pick that out at the market yourself?” 

“I have an eye for quality,” he drawled, turning back towards her own tent. 

Within, a ruddy lantern still burned, awaiting her return. Really, it was a wonder he sought her out about her loud aura before anyone shouted at her to turn off the damn light. 

“Hey!” shouted a young male voice from the darkness. “Could you turn off the damn light? Please?”

Right on cue. “Hold on a damn minute, Braham,” Arkadea called back.

“Sorry, Commander,” he fired back, a bit sheepish.

Before she could kneel to dim it, Canach slung the blanket around her shoulders. Despite the thickness of the fabric, it was light as a breeze. “It’s weighty, but it won’t suffocate you,” he said, wrapping it around her like he was rolling his own bedroll when breaking camp. “One of my armsmen swore by this. Of course, he was also an incorrigible annoyance and painfully stupid. But he slept well.”

Arkadea rolled her shoulders, loosening the binding. “And this is the original, hm? You take it off his corpse?”

“Of course,” he said, affronted she even needed to ask. “It’s a perfectly good blanket.” He nearly rolled his eyes at her deadpan expression. “I wouldn’t expect you of all people to be squeamish. Don’t worry, it’s been washed several times since then.”

As he settled the last of the fabric over her shoulders, she raised a hand to adjust its fall, and their fingers met where the curve of her neck met her shoulder. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand. And remained there, resting on her knuckle.

She felt the slight contact all the way down her arm, as if she’d been struck. She raised her eyes to meet his, breath catching at how they were half-lidded with barely disguised desire.

“Have I overstepped, Commander?” he murmured, voice low, posed as a challenge. Their gazes locked, each daring the other to move first.

It would be so damned easy to take his hand in hers and raise it to her mouth. She wanted it. By the Tree, how she wanted it. The world narrowed to only that thought. 

But in the end, she broke contact. She was the Commander, after all. She had the safety and well-being of her soldiers to think about.

“Ah,” he said, resigned. Perhaps a bit disappointed.

Though she let her hand drop to her side, she stood in place, allowing herself to enjoy this brief closeness, if nothing else. “You know I don’t let people do this kind of thing for me,” she said, mouth pursed in a slight frown. 

“If that’s an order to desist, Commander, consider it duly noted,” he said, a rough edge to his voice. 

“No,” she said softly. “I mean I don’t let people do this.” 

The rule to his proven exception. There was just the barest hint of surprise, and of a painful tenderness, in his aura before it slid out of her reach. 

“Hey, Commander? How about that light?” called Braham, with an edge of desperation in his voice. 

Canach coughed lightly. “I suppose you’d better turn it off, or he’ll keep shouting until someone goes to shut him up. And that someone will be me, and then you’ll have to take me to task for stabbing a comrade.”

“I suppose we had best save ourselves the trouble.” Arkadea gathered the loose edges of the blanket in her fists and wished her self-control was a damned sight worse. 

“I’ll be only an aura pulse away. Do give a metaphorical shout if you happen to need… something.”

“I will. Thank you.”

And he slipped out, letting the tent flap fall into place in his wake. She saw just a brief snatch of stars, still distant, still watchful. If they were hoping for a show, they’d have to be just as disappointed as she was.

She knelt and curled up on her bedroll, swaddled in the huge blanket like a tucked-in sapling, and turned off the lantern. Black silence descended like a held breath, broken only by the slow, dim pulse of her glow. She was painfully alert as she stared up at the tent’s blue-tinged roof. The damn blanket wasn’t helping. 

After what seemed like an age of listless tossing and turning, she opened her eyes with a hissed sigh. An aura pulse away. If she called out, what would he do? Answer in kind? Come rushing to her aid?

Now she was curious, and she couldn’t sleep until she’d satisfied herself. Never mind that she couldn’t sleep regardless. She gathered her aura and reached out, grasping about in the darkness, fumbling like when she’d newly awakened. 

And she met him, likewise reaching to her. They twined about one another as if their fingers laced together. Her breath caught. Once again, she didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it sure as fuck wasn’t this. She’d never felt this much of him before, all of him laid bare beneath her searching hands. 

His aura expanded, firm and sturdy as an anchor against the vast desert. As long as she touched him, like this, she could feel small beside him.

And for the first time in long months, Arkadea slept, deeply and without dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Bitches sure love that Canach guy huh? I'm bitches.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little fic!


End file.
